


Edge Of Something Breaking

by DefaltManifesto



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Crying During Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Intimacy, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostitution, Rough Sex, Self-Esteem Issues, Under-negotiated Kink, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 16:59:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15053753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefaltManifesto/pseuds/DefaltManifesto
Summary: Sometimes he still dreams of a fumbling kiss in an empty classroom.He awakens with a light feeling in his chest that he clings to as he lays in bed, eyes still shut as though that will prolong the moment and keep reality at bay. By the end of the day, something crushes the feeling out of him. It’s easier to just be empty.





	Edge Of Something Breaking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sonorousandloud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonorousandloud/gifts).



> Cullen sleeps with everyone in the tags except Cole just as an FYI. I just didn't see the point in tagging everyone and their mother. This fic is for a friend who had an awesome competition and kicked ass this weekend cuz she always loves a good Cullen fic. Title from I Was Never There by The Weeknd. Find me on twitter @ Defaltmanifesto. Comments are loved.

Cullen’s first kiss is with Alistair. It’s awkward and their teeth clash. Alistair goes bright red and trips on his own feet as he tries to flee the room even though it had been his idea in the first place. It’s not terrible as far as first kisses go, especially since they remain friends once Alistair gets over his embarrassment.

Most of Cullen’s firsts end up being with Alistair. They fumble in the dark in their shared room, biting pillows and sheets to muffle their noises and avoid detection. Awkwardness gives way to familiarity. At that age, everything feels amazing so by the time Alistair leaves for the Grey Wardens at nineteen, Cullen considers himself to be pretty experienced. That illusion lasts until Kinloch.

           

-.-

 

Desire demons trade in illusions, not true physical acts. By the time Cullen ships himself off to Kirkwall, any remaining innocence he had has been carefully picked apart and stripped away.

Alistair tries to talk to him, tries to help him, but Cullen avoids him and soon his Warden business whisks him away. He’s alone again.

But sometimes he dreams of a fumbling kiss in an empty classroom.

He awakens with a light feeling in his chest that he clings to as he lays in bed, eyes still shut as though that will prolong the moment and keep reality at bay. By the end of the day, something crushes the feeling out of him. It’s easier to just be empty.

 

-.-

 

He buys the company of a woman after his second year in Kirkwall. He’s not sure what drives him to it, perhaps too many nights in a row of memories best left buried have left him longing for even faked intimacy. Her name is Katriela. She kisses him breathless and he finds himself more enamored with the way her hair feels sliding between his fingers than the way she makes him come harder than Alistair ever did.

After, she stays with him. She rests her head on his chest and he lets his fingers continue to slip through her hair until her breathing is slow as if she’s on the verge of sleep.

In the end, he realizes there’s nothing worse than feeling alone with someone wrapped up in his arms. He doesn’t go back.

 

-.-

 

           

Finding himself in Fenris’ bed is a surprise to them both. It had started with complaints about screaming coming from an abandoned mansion in Hightown late at night. Cullen, of course, knew that Hawke’s friend inhabited the place but despite their leniency towards Hawke, that didn’t stop him from doing his job. He took a night shift and gave himself the beat in Hightown.

The screaming doesn’t last long, but it was easy to hear through the broken windows. He knocks on the door and waits until Fenris opens it.

 “The neighbors are complaining about the noise,” Cullen says, feeling a little sheepish because the cries had sounded like his own on the nights he managed to sleep long enough to slip into a nightmare.

“And?” Fenris stares at him, his usual baleful look mellowed out into something closer to disinterest.

“If it keeps up, I’ll have to do something. I can overlook your squatting, but not if the nobles get angry,” Cullen says.

Fenris shuts the door in his face.

The next night Cullen stops by, Fenris lets him in and they play chess in a dusty study with blood stains soaked into the carpet. The sixth night, Fenris presses him against the wall when he begins to leave and kisses him hard enough to make his lips feel bruised with a knee shoved up between his legs. Cullen grips his thin shoulders tight and kisses back with a desperation that should be embarrassing.

“This is a terrible idea,” Fenris says as he leads Cullen to his bed.

Cullen undoes the buckles of his armor. “Yeah, it definitely is.”

Fenris leaves scratches down his chest and back. He doesn’t question Cullen’s scars and Cullen doesn’t question his either and while it’s over too quick to truly be a pleasurable encounter, it feels better than the night he paid for. Fenris is here because he wants to be. He wears his heart on his sleeve without a care for what anyone, including Cullen, thinks and he’s honest in his wants and hurts and desires. He sees himself reflected back in Fenris’ honest anger and loneliness.

He wishes he could be as honest.

 

-.-

 

For all it goes against everything he’s supposed to honor, Cullen keeps ending up entangled with Hawke’s companions. Isabela accosts him shortly after Hawke kills the Arishok, gives some paltry excuse of ‘adrenaline’, and convinces him to fuck her in the back alley behind the Hanged Man. She pets his hair and coos praise at him, her thighs wrapped tight around his hips. His armor leaves marks in her skin. He can’t help but stare at them as guilt and shame fill him all while she makes herself look presentable.

“Fenris was right,” she says as she finishes lacing up the front of her top. “You are good.”

He flushes and turns away, humiliation swamping through him despite the compliment. What’s wrong with him? Is he so desperate for a kind touch that he’ll stoop so low as to sleeping around enough that people gossip?

“Hey,” Isabela says, voice softening as she grabs his wrist.

Cullen can break free, he knows that. Instead, he lets his weakness get the better of him and turns to face her.

“I didn’t mean anything bad by it,” she says. “You Templars are too straight-laced. Enjoying yourself isn’t a bad thing you know.”

"I…” For a moment, he can feel himself teetering on the edge of something. Honesty? “I need to head back.”

Isabela frowns but she lets him go even as her eyes burn into his back like she can see right through him.

 

-.-

 

Kirkwall descends into absolute chaos. Cullen isn’t surprised. That tends to happen, no matter where he goes.

 

-.-

 

Knight-Captain Rylen is a good man. He volunteers to help rebuild Kirkwall and keeps Cullen insulated from the worst of the Templars who seek to blame anyone, in particular _him_ , for Knight-Commander Meredith’s betrayal. For the first time in years, Cullen finds himself relying on someone, perhaps heavier than he should. Rylen is patient though and offers good insight to Cullen’s self-blame about the Mage Rebellion, providing solid critique and evidence to the contrary.

They fall into bed with another almost on accident. Rylen walks him back to his chambers after a late night walking Darktown and instead of bidding him good night, he leans forward and presses their lips together in a quick kiss, almost like an afterthought.

Except Cullen can’t let him go. He clutches at Rylen’s arms and pulls him into his room. Rylen laughs into the kiss.

"Eager I take it?”

Cullen can’t meet his eyes and busies himself with stripping out of his clothes. Rylen grabs his hands, hands that tremble and shake from withdrawal and nerves alike, and when the silence stretches on too long, Cullen looks up.

“Hey,” Rylen says. “We don’t have to…”

“Just take me to bed,” Cullen says, desperate to regain control of the situation.

Rylen nods, but it’s nothing like before. He doesn’t touch with Cullen with a hand tinged with pain, doesn’t drive out his thoughts with overstimulation that borders on agony. Instead he takes his time, spreads his legs wide and opens him on his tongue and fingers. Cullen can’t escape his body. Rylen won’t let him. He doesn’t fuck him either, instead wrapping his mouth around Cullen’s cock until he comes.

Cullen shakes after and his throat closes up, tighten like he’s going to cry. He can’t remember the last time he cried. There’s something in him screaming to stop what he’s doing, give Rylen a smile and jack him off, anything to hide the storm inside him that he’s hid from everyone else and himself. Rylen stretches out over him and tucks his face against Cullen’s neck. His weight is warm, comforting. The stubble from too many days without a shave scratches at Cullen’s neck, grounds him in sensation.

When he gets ahold of himself, he starts to push Rylen away. Somehow, his arms end up wrapped around him instead.

“I’m sure this isn’t…what you were expecting,” Cullen says after a moment.

“No, it’s not,” Rylen says. “But I don’t mind.”

Cullen doesn’t know what to do with that. What’s the point of being around him if he’s not useful, if he can’t be used? Why would Rylen stay? He doesn’t know the answer.

 

-.-

 

Rylen is a steadfast companion. They don’t sleep together again, but he’s the closest thing to a true friend Cullen has ever had and he cherishes that. It doesn’t stop him from heading back to Ferelden at Cassandra’s request though because every day Rylen’s easy companionship continues, the more nervous he gets that it’ll be ripped away from him.

The Conclave is a failure but it doesn’t phase him. Or maybe it does – distantly. But really, after the horror that had been Kirkwall’s destruction and subsequent rebuild he feels nothing more than a flash of anger that he’d have to go through it all again. Then comes the Inquisition and…responsibility. Real responsibility. That of all things is what seems to pull him out of the foggy stupor he’s been swimming through the last decade.

There’s no way to chase away the loneliness here though. No half-criminals/half-city heroes like there had been in Kirkwall, no fellow soldiers he trusts like Rylen, and of those who are his equal…well, Leliana would likely remove his cock from his body should he ask and even if she didn’t, she’d seen him at Kinloch. Cassandra was too much of a romantic even if she pretended she wasn’t and Trevelyan…well he was above all them in everything but name, though he knows they’re intent on naming him Inquisitor. Compounding his issues with authority really wouldn’t help anything.

 

-.-

 

“I’m not sure how to help.”

Cullen only just avoids jumping at Cole’s voice over his shoulder. He leans back against the stone of the battlements, folding his arms across his chest as he steadies his breathing. “Good evening, Cole.”

“It’s morning,” Cole says, stepping up beside him and leaning over the battlements, far enough that for a moment, Cullen worries he’ll go over the edge. “Pacing, panicking, pushing away the need for something more, something warm and real. I’m not real.”

Usually, his late night or early morning walks help relax him. Having a spirit poke in his mind is the opposite of that even though he knows Cole isn’t malicious.

“You’re plenty real, Cole,” Cullen says, turning to face him.

“Not real enough to _help_ ,” Cole says with an obvious note of distress in his voice. He pauses, going still before looking at him with too piercing eyes. “I understand being alone surrounded by people, but I’m different. I _scare_ them and no one wants to help. People want to help you.”

Instinct makes him want to sneer at the mere idea. People should see nothing but weakness if they saw the truth of him, a body ravaged by withdrawal and a mind more stubborn than smart. But…Cole speaks truth to a fault. His helping hasn’t ever included lying. The thought should be comforting, but instead it reinforces his belief that he truly _is_ a burden.

Cole makes a distressed noise. “I don’t know how to say the right thing.”

“You don’t need to Cole,” Cullen says. “You don’t have to fix everyone’s problems, though it’s admirable you want to.”

Cole remains silent for a while. Cullen leans against the cool stone and watches the way the snow drifts across the ice far below.

“Would you like a hug?” Cole asks after too long.

“Would I like a…” Cullen trails off in disbelief. “I…I suppose.”

Cole hums and shifts, wiggling in and wrapping too long arms around his waist. Cullen returns the gesture, but remains stiff, heart pounding because it’s too much like Rylen, the gentleness that’s given with nothing expected in return. When he relaxes, Cole squeezes him tighter once before letting go.

“I can hug you whenever you want,” Cole says. “It won’t fix you but, maybe it helps?”

Cullen doesn’t know what to say, so he just nods.

 

-.-

 

Playing chess with Dorian helps. He flirts with Cullen relentlessly but not in a serious way and for whatever reason, Cullen enjoys that. It’s the casual intimacy without the expectation for something more, without honesty. He even flirts back sometimes. The first time he does it, Dorian gives him a shocked look he wishes he could get painted and hang in his office for when he needs a good laugh.

But it only works for so long. Each day, a runner returns with evidence of Samson’s dealings and with each one that makes its way to his desk, a host of memories of Kirkwall comes with it. He misses more than one chess match. The fourth time finds Dorian at his office door with a carefully constructed playful expression that Cullen has more than enough practice to see right through. Everyone stares at him with worry and pity. This was just a better disguised version of the same thing.

“I can leave if you’d like,” Dorian says. “But I thought I should at least make sure it wasn’t something I had done. I do enjoy our friendship.”

“I don’t do intimacy,” Cullen says, turning towards the window so he can’t see Dorian or the damned letters. “Not with this.”

“Not with anything,” Dorian says. His footsteps circle towards the bookcase and out of the corner of his eye, Cullen can see him turn his back to him to look at his collection. “You griped about the Winter Palace but I think you’d fit right in. You’re ruthless at keeping people out.”

“And you’re not?”

“Not when it matters,” Dorian says, voice sharp. “But I won’t make you give something you don’t want to. You just let me know when you want to play chess again.”

Cullen slams a fist against the windowsill and turns to face him. Dorian turns as well. “I just need a distraction.”

Dorian scoffs. “I’m flattered, and while curious, I don’t think sex is the best solution, my own behavior withstanding. I never claimed to have good coping mechanisms. It’d be a shame to see you make the same mistake.”

Cullen laughs and steps closer. “It’s the only coping mechanism I know.”

Dorian’s expression goes flat. “No, Cullen. I won’t be someone for you to lose yourself in and discard.”

“So what, you want a relationship?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dorian says. “But I’m going to need more than a fuck when you’re stressed. I’m going to need you to be honest.”

“Fine,” Cullen says. “I’ll play chess with you and maybe even pretend to talk about my feelings once a week.”

Dorian pushes him back against the wall, one hand to his shoulder and other to his hip. “You don’t fool me, Cullen Rutherford. You can play tough about this if you want but all I see is what I saw in the mirror for decades.”

Cullen swallows, one hand clinging to Dorian’s arm. His mind tears itself in two, yearning to grasp at Dorian and beg him to make him not feel so alone but terrified of letting anyone see that after Rylen. And Rylen…Maker, Rylen had only scratched the surface. Now, he’s got more cracks in his mind than he can count, withdrawal and responsibility tangling into a mess of outward pressure that he only holds in check through habit alone.

“I hate myself,” Cullen says, the words tumbling out of him. “I hate myself and every day we get closer to Samson is another day of my failures being rubbed in my face.”

Dorian doesn’t flinch, just stares at him. “I know.”

“So. Now what?” Cullen asks. Panic feels a hairsbreadth away. “You got what you wanted.”

Dorian’s hand slides up to touch his jaw, fingers light. “I don’t want to cause you pain. I don’t want you to hate yourself, but I can’t stop you from doing that. All I can do is give you refuge to be honest with yourself and with me when you can’t be anywhere else.”

“What’s the point?” Cullen asks, grip tightening.

“The point is to have you be honest for one moment,” Dorian says. “It’s baby steps.”

"And you know that how, because you’re doing so well?” The words are harsher than he means but it’s too late to take them back.

“No, I’m still taking baby steps too,” Dorian says.

Whatever retort, whatever anger had been boiling in his chest and he had lashed out with. He sags back against the wall and closes his eyes. Dorian’s thumb rubs along his cheek.

“Honesty, Cullen. You give me that and I’ll distract you all you’d like after,” Dorian says.

“I don’t know how.”

Dorian sighs. “I know.”

 

-.-

 

They go to Dorian’s room. Dorian locks the door and peels Cullen out of his armor and clothes one item at a time with a look of contemplation. It makes Cullen squirm. It reminds him of the night with Rylen, but worse because at least then he could pretend Rylen couldn’t see him, couldn’t see who he truly was. Dorian knew. He knew because Cullen had told him.

“With me, Cullen, you stay right here with me,” Dorian whispers.

He presses their lips together and this Cullen knows. He cups the back of Dorian’s head and tries to lead but Dorian grips his neck and yanks him back like he’s an unruly dog.

“No, Cullen,” Dorian says. “I’m not letting you bury yourself in this.”

Cullen has no idea what he means by that. It becomes clear when they make it to the bed. Dorian leans back against the headboard and pulls Cullen into his lap before wrapping a lubed hand around his cock. He keeps waiting for more to happen. He tries to reciprocate but Dorian knocks his hands away. All he lets Cullen do is kiss him while he strokes, alternating between styles until he learns just what Cullen likes – tight enough to border on pain with the occasional scrape of his nails.

Right when he’s about to come, Dorian pulls his hand away and kisses him until he’s calm again. Then he starts over. Cullen grabs at his shoulders, clinging to them as pain tinged pleasure rolls through him, blotting out his thoughts and undoing his control. This is nothing and everything like Rylen. Rylen had been so sweet, treated with him with such reverence that he couldn’t keep it together. Dorian just takes him apart with every touch, ripping through his control by bringing him close to the edge and denying him again and again.

By the fifth time, Cullen can’t even be humiliated by the way he’s crying against Dorian’s neck. He can feel how hard Dorian’s cock is alongside his and distantly he thinks he should do something about it, but his hands stay where Dorian had put them. Dorian pulls his hand away and Cullen pulls himself closer, hips jerking against Dorian’s abdomen for just a moment before Dorian gently pushes him back again, not giving him a chance.

“Dorian, please…” His breath comes out in unsteady pants, gasps really.

“Be honest with me and I will,” Dorian says, voice firm.

Cullen bites at his neck to stifle his pained groan because he can’t, he doesn’t even know what Dorian wants to hear but he just knows he can’t. Dorian sighs and wraps his hand around him again. Two strokes have him nearly there and then his hand is gone and Cullen…Cullen wails. He shakes against Dorian and soaks his neck in tears but he keeps his mouth shut because he just can’t. He can still think.

Dorian doesn’t touch him again. His hands instead slide up and down Cullen’s back and encourages Cullen to breath slower, bringing him back up from whatever mindless place he’d descended into. Dorian presses their lips together and the last knot of tension in his chest eases. He’s still…good. He hadn’t disappointed Dorian. He was still getting this.

“That was a little unfair of me, pushing you so hard,” Dorian says. “But sex tears are easier than regular ones in my experience. I’ll tell you what I want. I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me you’re a good person Cullen.”

Cullen freezes, the calm state he’d been entering going right out the window. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Dorian says. “I know you can.”

Cullen wants to balk more, tell him no, get off his lap and out of this room because this was ridiculous. He wanted a distraction not whatever this was. Except. He’d agreed to this. It was just baby steps.

"You don’t have to believe it,” Dorian says.

That makes it easier Cullen supposes. He takes a few deep breaths and sneaks a look down at his cock which is now flushed and dark red from how long they’ve been doing this. Fingers tightening on Dorian’s shoulders, Cullen straightens and eases back onto Dorian’s thighs. Meeting his eyes isn’t as hard as he’d thought it would be. He opens his mouth but the words freeze in his throat. Dorian just looks back, nothing but understanding in his eyes even though Cullen had just broke down against him over and over.

“I’m a good person.”

Dorian smiles. “Thank you, Cullen.”

His hand wraps around his cock and he doesn’t work Cullen up, just strokes him hard and fast until Cullen is choking on a moan and tumbling over the edge into bliss.

 

-.-

 

“Commander! I was hoping to see you.”

Rylen’s voice makes Cullen freeze where he is by the sparring ring and he steels himself for what he knows will be an awkward encounter. Being honest with Dorian is still painfully difficult. He’s not sure he can manage it with someone as important to him as Rylen, not yet, but it’s too late to ponder that.

“Captain Rylen,” he says with a smile that is mostly genuine. “Did you join the resupply group this time?”

Rylen smiles. “Yes Ser. I’ve giving Lieutenant Captain Le a shot at running the Keep for a few weeks. We’ll see how she does.” He reaches out and then hesitates halfway towards a hug.

Cullen takes a moment to gather himself and then hugs Rylen first, perhaps, tighter than he should in such a public place but it’s an act of honesty for himself and maybe for Rylen too. He wants to hug his dear friend. Rylen beams at him when he pulls back.

“We’re in Skyhold for the night, do you think I could tempt you to have a drink?” he asks.

“I think that can be arranged,” Cullen says.

“I’ll save the more serious talk for later,” Rylen says. “No trading war stories in front of the rookies, eh?”

           

-.-

 

Drinks with Rylen in his office aren’t as hard as he thought they would be. They sit close together on the same side of Cullen’s desk, exchanging light-hearted stories of ridiculous things they’ve caught newer soldiers doing. It feels good, and for once, Cullen doesn’t feel like he’s faking it. Rylen notices.

“You look a lot better than you did in Kirkwall, Cullen, I mean that,” Rylen says, leaning forward on his knees and fiddling with the cup in his hands. “I…when you sent me to the Western Approach I thought that maybe…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what I thought.”

“I’m sorry,” Cullen says. “You’ve been a good friend. I’m hoping I can reciprocate that better moving forward. I’m…trying.”

“That’s good,” Rylen says. “Really.” He laughs then, leaning back in the chair. “It’s a relief honestly when I’ve been so worried. You’re a good man Cullen. You deserve good things and I’m glad you can find some peace in the middle of this damned war.”

Cullen grabs another bottle of ale and hands it to him. “I’m glad you could too.”

 

-.-

 

“And here I was starting to think you only had one friend – me.”

Cullen groans at Dorian’s loud voice, then realizes with a start that he’d fallen asleep at his desk. Rylen flails awake from where he’d been asleep on the floor.

“You’re lucky I’m the first one here,” Dorian says with a grin that says he won’t ever forget this. “Cassandra is on her way. You might want to look decent.”

“Shit,” Cullen says.

“I need to hide,” Rylen says, bolting for the ladder. “I can’t let the Seeker see me hung over.”

“We’ll let you know when it’s safe,” Dorian calls after him. He hands Cullen a glass of water. “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” Cullen says. “I can’t believe I let time get away from us like that.”

Dorian sits on the edge of his desk. “I’m glad you did.” He reaches out, fingers trailing along Cullen’s jaw before he leans in for a quick kiss. “Try and look presentable. I’ll try to distract our dear Seeker.”

 He opens the door and there stands Cassandra with a full glare on her face.

“Cullen. You missed our morning spar. Come along,” she says.

Cullen sighs. “Right away.”

 

-.-

 

Cullen doesn’t know if he’s ever going to like himself or be happy. He’s not sure Dorian will either. But they’re taking the baby steps together and for now, that’s enough.


End file.
